Freed From Darkness, and the Rebirth of Light
by Lord Athlorn
Summary: The retaking and defense of Osgiliath, as seen from the view point of Athlorn, Second-in-Command of Captain-General Boromir. Before Fellowship. Read and review.
1. The Scene, the Discussion, and The Start

Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR, or the characters...save Athlorn...hes mine I tells ye!  
  
Rain. Oppresive rain. It had fallen on the land of Gondor for three weeks straight now. In that time, several attacks had forced the Gondorian garrison of Ogiliath back to a mere foothold of the once great city. The garrison had been reenforced, though, with fresh soldiers from Minas Tirith, and at their head was the Capatain-General Boromir, Son of the Steward. He led a force of five thousand men, most of seasoned companies that had seen many a war with the Enemy's forces. To be the second-in-command of the Captain-General was a position much sought after, but only the best held it. Currently, that was Captain Athlorn, soldier reknowned for his prowess in battle, his utter and complete respect of his troops, but also the love he gained from them, for he treated them kindly when it was called upon.  
  
The Captain sat with the Captain-General, and a few Lieutenants in his tent, discussing the plan of the battle they all knew was comming. The tent was layered several times to keep the rain out, to provide a try interior for the Captain and his guests.  
  
"Milord, we do not have an exact figure on the Enemy's forces, but from what we have gathered from the garrison, they are rumored to be around two-thousand strong at the least. We have heard no mention of trolls, which can be counted as a blessing of the Valar, but that doesnt mean that they aren't there." Spoke one of the Lieutenants, standing across from Athlorn and Boromir.  
  
"Yes, I suppose you could. Do we know the position of the forces across the River?" Questioned the Captain-General to the Lieutenant.  
  
"Nay, sire, but from what we have heard, they are focusing mostly on the bridges in Osgiliath, whilst they leave their flanks either underprotected, or exposed entirly."  
  
This news caused the Captain to stir abit, gaining the attention of Boromir.   
  
"Yes, Athlorn? What is it?"  
  
"I do not like this news, sir. While I have seen them do such, they have a reserve ready to strike. This may be the case now...but why focus the majority of their strength on the bridges?" He tapped the map of the city infront of him. "I know for a fact there are better places to cross the Anduin..." He again proceeded to tap a few places on the map. "So, it puzzles me why they focus there. I know they may not have any boats, but by now they would have some..."  
  
"Aye, that may be so, sir, but if they focus all their weight on the bridges, they would force us to defend it there..."  
  
The tent fell silent as the Lieutenant spoke this, the only sound being the rain thundering down outside, and their own breathing.  
  
"Lieutenant, thank you for pointing that out..." Spoke softly the Captain-General before he walked forth from the tent, the others quickly following.  
  
As he walked forth, he shouted to a soldier to send a message to his father requesting additional companies before turning back to the group following him. "Lieuteanants, go back to your companies. Captain, your with me."   
  
With that, Boromir walked off, towards the River, Athlorn following him closely, his eyes watching the opposing shore carefully for signs of movement.  
  
"Athlorn, I must confide in you that this news makes me uneasy...I have never known Orcs to be this smart, to focus our attention else wither whilst they attack another...at least never on this scale, nor in this location..." He spoke quietly to the man, a look of unease upon his face.  
  
"Aye, sir...it makes me uneasy also...while Osgiliath does have its importance in the fact that it is an easy crossing of the Anduin, it still seems strange they focus and draw our attention thither...but where else could they attack us at? Pelagir? Too far south, and our Navy is stationed there. 'Twould be suicidal. Cair Andros? The current is too strong for them to ford, plus we would be able to know from you brother and his Rangers before hand..." A look of realization came across the Captain's face. "The Corsairs!"  
  
Captain-General Boromir's own eyes went wide, and he nodded. "Of course! By distracting us here, they take our attention away from Pelagir and the Corsairs! We must send word to Minas Tirith and Pelagir!"   
  
Turning, Boromir was about to shout to a soldier when a cry came in: "They are crossing the bridge! All soldiers, to the bridge!"  
  
Turning, the two drew swords and dashed to the bridge. The mass pouring towards the gate filled the bridge abreast. "By the Valar..." Uttered Athlorn, a Lieutenant beside him uttering the same thing.   
  
"Archers! Ready and fire!" 


	2. The Battle, and the Houses of Healing

Freed From Darkness, and the Rebirth of Light, Chapter Two  
  
Please note: I do not own LOTR, nor the characters...save Athlorn. He is mine, ya see?!  
  
Behind the Captain and Captain-General the sound of five hundred longbows firing at once could easily be heard, and the arrows seen as they decended down upon the Orcs heading across the bridge. Many fell, only to be trampled by their comrades as they rushed towards the gate. With soldiers massing behind them, Athlorn and Boromir held their swords at the ready, waiting for the gate to be breeched, and combat joined. The Orcs got ever closer, closer to that gate that seperated the two armies. At near last moment, a soldier ran forward, unordered but knew what was going to be done, unbared and opened the gate.   
  
Forth charged the army of Gondor, Captain-General Boromir at their head. Beside him stood Captain Athlorn, fell and feared in battle. Behind them stood the battle tested and hardened companies of Minas Tirith, all charging forth with one cry: "For Gondor!"  
  
From the Orcs came their own cry: "For the Eye!" and battle was joined on the bridge of Osgiliath.  
  
The rain was no longer a factor as Orc and Man alike fell on the bridge, puddles of water becoming puddles of blood. Swords, spears, and axes clashed as the two sides pushed towards the other, hoping to gain ground, and loose none.  
  
In the front, where the fighting was heaviest, was Captain-General Boromir and Captain Athlorn, hacking away at the Orcs that attacked them, steel ringing against steel, steel slicing flesh, and cleaving bone. The battle was all they were focused on, paying not any attention to those about them...and as such, they did not notice when the press of foes began to encircle them.  
  
Still they fought, their swords notched, and weariness began to take its toll as the battle dragged on for hours upon end. When they finnaly took stock of their situation, they realized that their position had been overrun, and the Orcs had surrounded them. Behind the gate, they could see their soldiers, straining in the arms of the Lieutenants that held them back, for unbeknownst to Athlorn and Boromir, a retreat had been called. This did not make them happy.  
  
"Sir! I think it would be best if we dove into the water! They wouldnt follow us there!" Shouted Athlorn to the Steward's Son as they continued to fight.  
  
Nodding, Boromir headed towards one side, Athlorn following him, fighting as best he may with a severly notched sword.  
  
As they struggled towards the side, Athlorn stumbled in his weariness, and the mass of Orcs desended upon him. A cry rose from the soldiers at the sight of this, and they broke through the chain of Lieutenants, won the gate, and with one great cry desended upon the Orcs fighting towards their Captain. The Captain-General Boromir turned at the cry, and whne he saw his Second-in-Command fallen, he gave a shout of his own, and began hacking and slashing towards his fallen comrade and friend.  
  
  
  
When the soldiers reached their Captain, it was a sad sight to behold. Blood drenched his uniform, and pooled about his body. His sword lay notched at his side, his hand weakly gripping it.   
  
This fueled the soldiers to new levels of fury, and with one cry: 'For the Captain and Gondor!' they attacked anew the Enemy's forces upon the bridge, slaughtering them where the stood, injured or nay. Such force caught the Orcs off guard, and they quickly retreat back across the brdige to their own side. Though the soldiers wished to persue, the Captain-General held them back, 'for if they persued, the life of the Captain they loved would be forefit, and it would be an ignoble end to a noble Man.'  
  
Seeing this wisdom slowly, the companies fell back, and to the body of their Captain. Slowly, singing songs of sorrow, they proceeded off the bridge with his body, and into the camp.  
  
The shout of the guards awakened the city of Minas Tirith, but they were not shouts of joy. For, riding towards the Great Gate was a solitary horse, and perched upon it were two figures. One was slumped forward, head resting upon his chest. The other rode tall, and all could identify him as the Son of the Steward. The other they could not identify until his head fall back, revealing it to be Captain Athlorn, his uniform soaked in his and his enemies blood, his face with dozens of cuts.  
  
As they approached the Sixth Circle of the City, the guards gasped at the sight of the Captain, staring in shock as they rode past towards the Houses of Healing.  
  
"Healer! Where are the healers!?" Bellowed Boromir as he stormed into the Houses, Athlorn's body in his arms. "Healer!" He bellowed again as he strode deeper into the Houses.  
  
"Pray, what gives you reason to..." The Healer's words cut short as he sees the Lord Boromir and the body of Athlorn.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Two days ago, he fell on the Bridge of Osgiliath. He was warmed by Orcs. I fear what his condition would be if we had come any later..."  
  
Athlorn's eyes fluttered upon. Strange were his surroundings. Last he checked, he was not quarted in the buildings of Osgiliath. In fact, he slept in a tent in the field, beside that of his lord Boromir. Blinking, he then realized that he was on a soft bed. This puzzeled him greatly, for ground and stone are hard, and not soft.  
  
"You finally are awake, my friend."  
  
Turning his head sharply, Athlorn found Boromir sitting in a chair, ankles crossed, his hand holding a cup of wine. His uniform was still dirty, and had upon the scent and sight of battle.  
  
"My lord." The Captain tried to move, but pain shot through his body.  
  
"Move not, my friend! You were greavously injured in the battle."  
  
"Wha-what happened? What happened on the bridge, my lord?"  
  
"You fell. Weariness took your body, and you fell. We reached you in time to save you from the worse...You are now in the Houses of Healing, in Minas Tirith."  
  
"I fell? Tha-that is not possible..." Mumbled Athlorn as he looked to his lord.  
  
"As I said, weariness claimed you. The battle had raged for hours, friend, and we in the thick. You fought bravely."  
  
"I fought for my lord. I fought for the Steward's Son. I fought for my friend...my land...and my city." His words now held a deep pride in them, which was reflected upon his face.  
  
To this, the Captain-General chuckled. "Aye, my friend, that you did. I shall see to it my self that the word of your deeds shall long be on the minds and tongues of Men."  
  
A weak cuckle came from Athlorn. "What of the army? Who now commands them?"  
  
"Your lesser, the one from Anorian does. He is a competant man, as Im sure you well know...now, rest now, my friend. You will need all your strength in the days ahead."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"We are holding a feast for you, Athlorn. You shall have the privlage to sit beside myself, Faramir, and the Steward."  
  
To Be Continued...Read and Review! 


	3. More Houses of Healing, the Feast, and a...

The Captain Athlorn watched as Boromir left from the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Athlorn sighed, and closed his eys. Though, as tired as he was, he could ot find sleep. He never slept well in such beds, so use was he to the ground of the battlefield, hard, cold, and uncomfortable. This is not to say that he slept on the ground his whole life.When he was a child he slept in beds, but that was a luxary soon forgotten when he joined the Hosts.  
  
Again, his eyes fluttered open, but this time it was to the smell of food. Stuggling onto his elbows, he looked about. Beside him, resting upon a small table, was a tray of food, beside that a cooled pot of tea and a mug. Smiling somewhat, he reached over towards the tray. He had moved only a few inches when pain, vast ammounts of it, shot through his side. Giving a shout, he quickly withdrew his arm, which caused him to roll off the bed, hitting the stone with a thud, which gave cause to him to give another cry of pain.  
  
The door was quickly openend, and two sets of footfalls could be heard, one soft, the other boot falls. Quickly rushing to the other side of the bed was Boromir, and a healer. "Friend, you fool, I told you not to move..." Softly spoke the Steward's Heir, jest in his voice. With the help of the healer, how ever small part she played, they lifted him back onto the bed.  
  
The Captain chuckled, though it was with pain. "I choose that time not to listen to you for once..."  
  
"Go back to sleep. When you awake, we will feed you." Spoke the healer, who promptly almost dragged Boromir from the room...with words, of course.   
  
TWO WEEKS LATER...  
  
Athlorn winced slightly as he pulled on his new uniform, the weight of the chainmail felt good, but when it came to rest on his wounds, even though there was a layer of leather, and under that an actual uniform, it still caused a bit of pain. Reaching onto the bed behind him, he grabbed his belt, and placed it upon his waist, fastening it. His sword, all notches and blood removed, rested in its sheath upon the belt. Sitting down for a brief moment, he pulled on his boots, which like the rest of the uniform, were clean and fresh. Standing, he lastly placed his gauntlets, made of stiff, yet supple, black leather. Satisfied, he opened the door, and walked from the room in which his last two weeks were spent, recovering from his wounds. Beside the door stood two soldiers, who stiffly saluted him. He returned the salute, though with caution.  
  
Stepping down the hall, the two soldiers followed quickly behind him, smiles hidden upon their faces. They, of course, had wanted to see their Captain back upon his feet, and two weeks was a sore trial without him, but they had managed to get through.  
  
Athlorn turned the corner, and walked forth from the Houses of Healing, never a happier look upon his face...if you can call the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth a happy look. Waiting there was Boromir, who smiled as he saw his comrade-in-arms approach.  
  
"Ah, its about time you were out of there, you sluggard. I cant have you getting use to being waited on hand and foot, and sleeping on soft beds, now can I?"  
  
The Captain chuckled, shaking his head. "Nay, lord, for I would crawl out of that prison of soft beds and waiting nurses, if it ment to be away from the battles at hand."  
  
"Ah, good news indeed. Now, off to Merethrond, and the feast."  
  
Athlorn and Boromir entered Merethrond, and were greated with the sights and sounds of the feast. Since it was the Hall of Feasts, Merethrond was filled with tables, and hundreds of people. Politicians, nobles, and high ranking officers from the Hosts, Navy, and even the Rangers attended, in their best clothing.  
  
Boromir steered the Captain away from them, and towards the head table. There sat Denethor, Steward of Gondor, and Faramir, Second Son of the Steward, and Captain of the Rangers. Both stood at the approach of Boromir and Athlorn.  
  
"Ah, there is my son with his charge." Spoke the Steward, nodding as both the Captain and his son gave salutes and bows.  
  
"I was wondering when you would return, brother. The wine was getting warm, and the food cold." Jested Faramir as he returned the salute of the Captain.  
  
All but the Steward sat, for he held a goblet of wine in his hand. "We are here today to salute the Man that fought bravely for Osgiliath, and again sent a warning to the Enemy that it shall not fall without costing Him plenty!"  
  
This gave cause to the soldiers in the Hall to shout in agreement, slamming their fists down on the tables to emphisize this point. Even Boromir joined in with it.  
  
Denethor held up his hand, and they all quieted down. "So, we hold this in his honor, and wish him long life, luck, and plenty of battles." All in the Hall stood, and giving salute to the Captain with their glasses, then draining them. The rest of the night was full of songs, food, dances, and joy, save mayhap in the face of Athlorn, who more than anything wanted to be back at Osgiliath.  
  
**********  
  
Winter now held its grip upon Gondor. In the months following that battle for Osgiliath, the navy of Gondor had sailed southwards, towards Umbar, and found a small fleet being built, for an attack on Pelargir. The fleet was quickly scattered, but Gondor's own navy could not spend time hunting them down, and quickly came back. Athlorn, the battle for Osgiliath over, had, with the leave of Boromir, gone to his residence in Anorien, to recoperate more from the wounds he had recieved in the battles. The residence of the Captain rested near the Great Beacon of Erelas, and was constructed of fine stone, from the White Mountains which loomed not but a few lengths away. It's vast tracts of land, indeed there had to be, for Athlorn loved horses, for in his vains ran the blood of Númenor stong, was fenced in by the same white stone that made up the rest of the buildings. Ah, but inside the main residence, it was not stone, but wood, a dark wood, rich in color. From it was hung tapistries of many important battles in the history of Gondor: the Seige of Mordor, various scenes of the Kin-strife, and the Battle of the Camp, some of the more notible ones.  
  
In the main hall of his residence sat Athlorn, thoughtfuly sipping a tankard. Across from him sat his Lieutenant, a man descent from Ithilien. Tall, raven hair down to his shoulders, eyes of gray, and a noble mien, not unlike the Captain himself. In his own hand he held a tankard, from which he took a rathy healthy drink.  
  
"So, you are proposing that we go to North-Ithilien to hunt? Aside from your known love of that land, why do we go thither?" Asked the Captain after what seemed an eternal silence.  
  
"My lord, the best hunting may be found there. If not of animal, than of enemy." Came the low response of the Lieutenant, his eyes locked upon Athlorn's.  
  
"Ah, a man after my own thoughts." A brief smile, and chuckle. "Very well, we shall set forth no later than noon on the morrow. I shall have my squire send word to the Captain-General Boromir."  
  
Author's Note: Hey all. Sorry this got a wee bit long in commin, but work piles upon work. Now, I give thanks to the one person that has reviewed so far, and I will try to mend errors best I may, as I have not yet re-loaded MS Word. I am using WordPad at the moment. Now, as to answer your question, nay, this is not the battle of Osgiliath that happens before Boromir leaves for Rivendell. This is one of the several beforehand. Now, many of you might wonder why time has progressed so fast. That is all part of my plot. I think you might like where this ends up...future chapters will be bloody, as best as I may make them. If you have any ideas to add, compliments, or constructive criticism (note the use of words there...), please feel free to add it into your reviews...oh, and to get more, please do review. It lets me know people actualy care about this...I thank you. 


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